


What Color Is Love?

by BloodyHooker



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: African American Marco and Connie, Alternate Universe, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Segregation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyHooker/pseuds/BloodyHooker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I failed History class three times, but I wanted to write this little thing, so if I'm completely inaccurate, my bad. </p><p>I just have no words.</p>
    </blockquote>





	What Color Is Love?

**Author's Note:**

> I failed History class three times, but I wanted to write this little thing, so if I'm completely inaccurate, my bad. 
> 
> I just have no words.

 

 

My name is Jean Kirschtein. I was born April 7th, 1935 to Elanore and Klaus Kirschtein. I lived in Trost, Georgia with my parents and sister. I was twenty-two years old, the date was June 25th, 1957. That's when I met him. That's when I met Marco Bodt. I may forget to do a lot of things, like doing the dishes, doing the laundry, and taking off my shoes before I enter someone's house. I may forget to let the dog in when I get home, or forget to take the garbage out, but I will never forget the day I met Marco.

 

Like I said, it was June 25th, 1957, and I was walking down Maine Street with my best girl, Sasha. She wasn't my wife, or even my girlfriend, she was my best friend. We grew up together from toddlers when her parents moved into the apartment across the hall from mine. We went to grade school together, middle school, graduated, and were going to college together. We did everything together, we were inseparable. I can't remember exactly why we went into town that day, probably hoping to find somewhere cool to escape the relentless Georgia heat. But I know she was bugging me to buy her something sweet from the corner store across the street when a body collided with mine and I was thrown to the ground. 

 

I must have hit my head pretty good on the sidewalk because all I could comprehend was Sasha's voice calling my name and the incessant apologies from a voice I didn't recognize. When I gained enough of my senses to be able to be helped up, that's when I saw his face. The beautiful, deep caramel colored face with dark freckles that splattered across his noes and cheeks. His dazzling brown eyes were wide in surprise and I felt my heart melt.

 

"Oh my... Are you okay, sir?" I remember wanting to scoff at being called 'sir', but I couldn't. Not with those gorgeous eyes boring into mine. I opened my mouth to speak when a deranged older man hobbled out of the shop next to where we stood.

 

"I told you Goddamn n..." He called the handsome man and his friend- who I had only come to realize was there at that moment- the 'N' word. Even then I couldn't stand the word. I hated it and I still hate it. "... To get the hell out of here. Now look what you've done!" I felt my blood boil, and Sasha grab at my arm as my fists clenched. The old man limped over to my side and flipped his attitude like a switch, he treated me with such kindness and respect it was sickening. I don't remember what he asked me, but I remember the look on his face when I told him not to call them that.

 

"Excuse me?" His brow furrowed in confusion and I brushed off my slacks.

 

"I said; Don't call them  _that_. I hate that fucking word."

 

"You're defending...  _them_?" The way he spat the last word like a curse made my spine shiver in anger.

 

"You're damn right I am. What makes me so much more special than them, huh? Because I'm white? How do you figure that because of my being white I've done more to deserve respect than this young man and his friend? They probably work harder every day of their lives than I ever will in my whole life." I could feel my shoulders begin to shake and Sasha's hand tighten around my arm, a silent plea for me to calm down. But I couldn't, I couldn't stand the smug look on the old geezer's face as if he knew something I didn't. "You don't have a lot of time left on this earth, old man, so I suggest you pull your head out of your ass before I shorten that time for you." 

 

The old man sneered and waddled his way back into his shop, mumbling something about respecting my elders. Fat chance if the rest of them were as crotchety as he was.

 

I rubbed the sore spot on the back of my head and Handsome asked me if I was okay, of course he had to add 'sir' at the end of it.

 

"Don't call me 'sir', my name's Jean." I held out my hand for him to shake, and he flashed me a brilliant white smile as he took my hand. "Marco, Marco Bodt. This is my friend, Connie Springer." He gestured to the short bald guy, who was definitely admiring Sasha whether he knew it at the time or not.

 

"What were you doing bothering that old bastard for, anyway? He has signs out and everything." I gestured to the sign that suggested that only white people were allowed inside. Marco looked sheepish as he shrugged his shoulders and our eyes met for the second time. "We lost our jobs at the warehouse, so we're looking for new ones, I guess." He took a quick look at the sign in the window. "Figured it was worth a shot." 

 

I had to wonder if this guy was just really brave or really stupid, and I told him so. He just smiled and told me that it was probably a little bit of both. I couldn't help but grin back.

 

It was then that Sasha interrupted the moment that we were sharing. "Y'know... If you boys are wanting to work, my Pa's always looking for extra hands around the bakery." She cast a fleeting look in Connie's direction and I swore that I saw her blush. "It's just me and him most of the time, so we could use the help." Connie and Marco looked at each other and smiled.

 

 

\---

 

 

Life went on and I made it a point to visit Sasha's Bakery after work, and every day Marco was working. For a whole month I made it look like I was just coming in for the baked goods. Which were amazing, don't get me wrong. But the way I gained two notches on my belt, however, was not amazing. So I'd just sit at the table closest to the counter and talk Marco's ear off. I told him about my day, he told me about his.

 

We'd talk about our parents, school, the future. Marco wanted to be a teacher, and I still had no clue. He wanted a family and a dog and a house with a white picket fence. I wanted to know what I was going to make for dinner that night. That went on for months until Sasha and I moved into our own apartment. 

 

More often than not, I'd find Sasha and Connie all cozied up on the sofa in front of the T.V that our parents chipped in to get us as a housewarming gift. And more often than not, I'd find myself opening the door to be greeted by Marco's smiling face, a six-pack of beer in one hand and dinner in the other. That's how we'd spend most of our nights, for years, if you can imagine. Three to be exact.

 

We kept an unspoken rule of friendship until I finished college in the Spring, and he and I celebrated over bottles of wine- alone. Sasha and Connie were 'working' late so he and I had the apartment all to ourselves. It was at the bottom of the second bottle when Marco leaned into me and rested his head against my shoulder. It was at the glass I lost count at when I pressed my lips against his cheek, his nose, and then his mouth.

 

Kissing Marco was better than anything I could have imagined it being. His lips were more soft than any girls I'd ever kissed and even though the wine masked most of his taste, he was still sweet. We made love that night, we didn't just have sex or fucked because I cared for Marco far more than to have him for a simple pleasure. That night I knew I was head over heels, madly in love with Marco Bodt. So I asked him to be mine.

 

Of course we were scared, segregation was still in it's height and it was almost unheard of for an interracial couple to be openly gay. We fought, we cried, we laughed, we held each other when the reality of it all would crash down upon us. That maybe we'd never live to see the day when he and I could walk down the street holding hands like it was nothing. The day when people wouldn't stare at us for being who we are.

 

It was on July 2nd, 1964 when President Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act, declaring that segregation was unconstitutional. Sasha, Connie, Marco and I were sitting on the sofa, watching the news and holding on to each other for dear life. When it was announced we cheered, we laughed and we cried. I could hear the neighbor upstairs banging on the floor to get us to shut up. The neighbor across the hall, a sweet little old lady, ran over and kissed us all on the cheek.

 

Sasha and Connie were quiet for a long time after she left, and Marco and I were still holding on to each other. When we broke apart, I went to pour us all a glass of wine. But when I handed Sasha hers, she wouldn't take it, that's when she told us she was pregnant.

 

She had us come with her to tell her Father, not because she was scared, but because she insisted that we were her family and she wanted us to be there. Her Daddy was sharpening his hunting knives on the coffee table when they told him, he stared at the blade for a long time before turning his head to Connie. He said; "Y'all best be planning the wedding." And Connie, like the idiot he is, laughed.

 

Life was different after that. Connie and Sasha got married, and she walked down the aisle, nine month pregnant belly and all. Marco landed a job teaching English at the high school, and I was working my ass off to save up for something I didn't know I was saving for. Where Sasha moved out of the apartment, Marco moved in. And when we baby sat their daughter, Michelle, I began to notice the look Marco would get when he watched me interact with her. He wanted to start a family.

 

That's when I knew I had to tell my family. About us, about what we were going to do. My Father seemed indifferent, though I could tell he wasn't happy about it. My Mother just wanted grandchildren, so long as we brought them around often enough. And my sister, laughed and told our parents that she knew I was gay.

 

We had our ups and downs going through the process, butt that's when I met a woman named Ymir. She was in the same boat as us, her and her partner, a lovely little blonde thing by the name of Krista wanted to have children. So we helped each other out. By the end of Fall in 1970, we held our daughter, Kimberly Dawn Kirschtein. And four years later we held our son, Zachary Paul Bodt. But not before I figured out what exactly I'd been saving all my money for. A few months before our son was to be born I bought a house. The kind that Marco had always dreamed about. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a big backyard and that damn white picket fence.

 

\---

 

 

We raised our children together, and Marco went back to school to become a professor. We watched our kids grow up and have children of their own, and honestly, I couldn't have been happier. Marco and I- we had our bad times, but more often than not, they were good. He was good.

 

That's why in December of 2009 I was cursing every God I had ever heard in passing for doing this to Marco.  _My Marco._ He had cancer, and it was terminal. I cried more than he did and I called him a stupid bastard when he refused treatment. He said that he didn't want to feel like he had cancer before he died, he wanted to live out those days happily with me.

 

Five months later, my Marco left this world. And for the first time in my life I felt what heartbreak was. It wasn't like when my parents died or when my sister passed away. It was different. It felt like a part of me was lost, and I knew I was never going to get that part back. Our daughter flew in from California and our son rushed back from New York to pay their respects.

 

Kimberly wanted me to move back with her so I didn't have to be alone. And as much as I didn't want to leave my home- our home, I did. I didn't take most of my things, just my clothes, important papers and Marco's things.

 

I lived in California for three years before my health took a negative turn. I don't quite remember what happened, but Kimberly says that I have Alzheimer's. She says that I have days that are really bad, where I can't remember her name, and I don't remember my grandchildren. She says that I don't remember my birthday or even hers. But I always remember Marco. And I always ask where Marco is and when he'll be back from where ever nonsense my brain comes up with. She always tells me that he's waiting for me.

 

It's Thursday, April 3rd, 2014. My name is Jean Kirschtein and I was born on April 7th, 1935. I'm seventy-nine years old, and I'll be eighty years old on Monday. I have two kids, Kimberly Dawn Kirschtein, and Zachary Paul Bodt. I have six grandchildren and one great-grandchild. I have a husband, Marco Bodt that I love very dearly.

 

Kimberly says that I have days of clarity where I remember everything, from where Marco and I went to eat on our first date to what I had for dinner two weeks ago. She tells me to write down everything, so that when I do get bad it'll help me remember who I am. Lately, I've started feeling pains in my chest, and I'm wondering if that's what happens when someone is slowly dying from a broken heart. Every day my chest aches for Marco, whether I'm aware of it or not. Every day I turn over in my bed, still reaching out for him. It hurts, because I know he's gone. But it feels better every day because I know I'll be with him soon. And no matter how bad I get, I'll always remember June 25th 1957.

 

 

\---

 

 

My name is Kimberly Dawn Kirschtein-Lewin. I was born November 2nd, 1970 to Marco Bodt and Jean Kirschtein. The date is April 20th, 2014 and I just got home from my Father's funeral. I wasn't going to write anything here, because it's my Father's story. It's his life on a mere four pieces of paper, but it didn't end when he stopped writing.

 

The night he passed away was an especially bad day. He couldn't remember who I was, and he thought I had broken in to his house. He thought he was back in my childhood home in Georgia. I tried to tell him that it was okay, that I was his daughter and it was going to be okay. But he screamed at me and tried to throw whatever he could find. Then he held his chest and looked like he was in pain.

 

I'm not a nurse, but I feared that he was having a heart attack. So I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. But my Father's hand clamped over mine and told me to stop, that Marco was here for him. I didn't think it was too bizarre, because he always said things like that when he had bad days. But then his other hand curled around something I clearly couldn't see and he began to cry. In all my years, I had never seen my Father cry. I had seen my Daddy cry a handful of times, but never my Father. Never Jean.

 

He sobbed and said; "Marco, don't ever leave me again." And that was it, he laid his head back against his recliner and muttered an "I love you" before he took his last breath. I'm not sure if he really did see my Daddy or if it was some sort of hallucination people have before they pass, but I take comfort in thinking that my Daddy really did come back for him.

 


End file.
